The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy, gentleman

said my father, this is not a history,——’tis a sermon thou art reading; prithee begin the sentence again.]——“Behold this helpless victim delivered up to his tormentors,—his body so wasted with sorrow and confinement, you will see every nerve and muscle as it suffers. “Observe the last movement of that horrid engine!”—[I would rather face a cannon, quoth _Trim_, stamping.)—“See what convulsions it has thrown him into!——Consider the nature of the posture in which he how lies stretched,—what exquisite tortures he endures by it!”—[I hope ’tis not in _Portugal._]—“’Tis all nature can bear! Good God! see how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips!” [I would not read another line of it, quoth _Trim_ for all this _world_;—I fear, an’ please your Honours, all this is in _Portugal_, where my poor brother _Tom_ is. I tell thee, _Trim_, again, quoth my father, ’tis not an historical account,—’tis a description.—’Tis only a description, honest man, quoth _Slop_, there’s not a word of truth in it.——That’s another story, replied my father.—However, as _Trim_ reads it with so much concern,—’tis cruelty to force him to go on with it.—Give me hold of the sermon, _Trim_,—I’ll finish it for thee, and thou may’st go. I must stay and hear it too, replied _Trim_, if your Honour will allow me;—tho’ I would not read it myself for a Colonel’s pay.——Poor Trim! quoth my uncle _Toby._ My father went on.] “——Consider the nature of the posture in which he now lies stretched,—what exquisite torture he endures by it!—’Tis all nature can bear! Good God! See how it keeps his weary soul hanging upon his trembling lips,—willing to take its leave,——but not suffered to depart!—Behold the unhappy wretch led back to his cell!”——[Then, thank God, however, quoth _Trim_, they have not killed him.]—“See him dragged out of it again to meet the flames, and the insults in his last agonies, which this principle,—this principle, that there can be religion without mercy, has prepared for him.”——[Then, thank God,——he is dead, quoth _Trim_,—he is out of his pain,—and they have done their worst at him.—O Sirs!—Hold your peace, _Trim_, said my father, going on with the sermon, lest _Trim_ should incense Dr. _Slop_,—we shall never have done at this rate.] “The surest way to try the merit of “any disputed notion is, to trace down the consequences such a notion has produced, and compare them with the spirit of Christianity;——’tis the short and decisive rule which our Saviour hath left us, for these and such like cases, and it is worth a thousand arguments——_By their fruits ye shall know them._ “I will add no farther to the length of this sermon, than by two or three short and independent rules deducible from it. “_First_, Whenever a man talks loudly against religion, always suspect that it is not his reason, but his passions, which have got the better of his CREED. A bad life and a good belief are disagreeable and troublesome neighbours, and where they separate, depend upon it, ’tis for no other cause but quietness sake. “_Secondly_, When a man, thus represented, tells you in any particular instance,——That such a thing goes “against his conscience,——always believe he means exactly the same thing, as when he tells you such a thing goes _against_ his stomach;—a present want of appetite being generally the true cause of both. “In a word,—trust that man in nothing, who has not a CONSCIENCE in every thing. “And, in your own case, remember this plain distinction, a mistake in which has ruined thousands,—that your conscience is not a law;—No, God and reason made the law, and have placed conscience within you to determine;——not, like an _Asiatic_ Cadi, according to the ebbs and flows of his own passions,—but like a _British_ judge in this land of liberty and good sense, who makes no new law, but faithfully declares that law which he knows already written.” _F I N I S._ Thou hast read the sermon extremely well, _Trim_, quoth my father.—If he had spared his comments, replied Dr. _Slop_,——he would have read it much better. I should have read it ten times better, Sir, answered _Trim_, but that my heart was so full.—That was the very reason, _Trim_, replied my father, which has made thee read the sermon as well as thou hast done; and if the clergy of our church, continued my father, addressing himself to Dr. _Slop_, would take part in what they deliver as deeply as this poor fellow has done,—as their compositions are fine;—[I deny it, quoth Dr. _Slop_]—I maintain it,—that the eloquence of our pulpits, with such subjects to enflame it, would be a model for the whole world:——But alas! continued my father, and I own it, Sir, with sorrow, that, like _French_ politicians in this respect, what they gain in the cabinet they lose in the field.——’Twere a pity, quoth my uncle, that this should be lost. I like the sermon well, replied my father,——’tis dramatick,—and there is something in that way of writing, when skilfully managed, which catches the attention.——We preach much in that way with us, said Dr. _Slop._—I know that very well, said my father,—but in a tone and manner which disgusted Dr. _Slop_, full as much as his assent, simply, could have pleased him.——But in this, added Dr. _Slop_, a little piqued,—our sermons have greatly the advantage, that we never introduce any character into them below a patriarch or a patriarch’s wife, or a martyr or a saint.—There are some very bad characters in this, however, said my father, and I do not think the sermon a jot the worse for ’em.——But pray, quoth my uncle _Toby_,—who’s can this be?—How could it get into my _Stevinus_? A man must be as great a conjurer as _Stevinus_, said my father, to resolve the second question:—The first, I think, is not so difficult;—for unless my judgment greatly deceives me,——I know the author, for ’tis wrote, certainly, by the parson of the parish. The similitude of the stile and manner of it, with those my father constantly had heard preached in his parish-church, was the ground of his conjecture,—proving it as strongly, as an argument _à priori_ could prove such a thing to a philosophic mind, That it was _Yorick_’s and no one’s else:—It was proved to be so, _à posteriori_, the day after, when _Yorick_ sent a servant to my uncle _Toby_’s house to enquire after it. It seems that _Yorick_, who was inquisitive after all kinds of knowledge, had borrowed _Stevinus_ of my uncle _Toby_, and had carelesly popped his sermon, as soon as he had made it, into the middle of _Stevinus_; and by an act of forgetfulness, to which he was ever subject, he had sent _Stevinus_ home, and his sermon to keep him company. Ill-fated sermon! Thou wast lost, after this recovery of thee, a second time, dropped thru’ an unsuspected fissure in thy master’s pocket, down into a treacherous and a tattered lining,—trod deep into the dirt by the left hind-foot of his Rosinante inhumanly stepping upon thee as thou falledst;—buried ten days in the mire,——raised up out of it by a beggar,—sold for a halfpenny to a parish-clerk,——transferred to his parson,——lost for ever to thy own, the remainder of his days,—nor restored to his restless MANES till this very moment, that I tell the world the story. Can the reader believe, that this sermon of _Yorick_’s was preached at an assize, in the cathedral of _York_, before a thousand witnesses, ready to give oath of it, by a certain prebendary of that church, and actually printed by him when he had done,——and within so short a space as two years and three months after _Yorick_’s death?—_Yorick_ indeed, was never better served in his life;——but it was a little hard to maltreat him after, and plunder him after he was laid in his grave. However, as the gentleman who did it was in perfect charity with _Yorick_,—and, in conscious justice, printed but a few copies to give away;—and that I am told he could moreover have made as good a one himself, had he thought fit,—I declare I would not have published this anecdote to the world;——nor do I publish it with an intent to hurt his character and advancement in the church;—I leave that to others;——but I find myself impelled by two reasons, which I cannot withstand. The first is, That in doing justice, I may give rest to _Yorick_’s ghost;——which—as the country-people, and some others believe,——_still walks._ The second reason is, That, by laying open this story to the world, I gain an opportunity of informing it,—That in case the character of parson _Yorick_, and this sample of his sermons, is liked,——there are now in the possession of the _Shandy_ family, as many as will make a handsome volume, at the world’s service,——and much good may they do it. C H A P. XLIII OBADIAH gained the two crowns without dispute;—for he came in jingling, with all the instruments in the green baize bag we spoke of, flung across his body, just as Corporal _Trim_ went out of the room. It is now proper, I think, quoth Dr. _Slop_, (clearing up his looks) as we are in a condition to be of some service to Mrs. _Shandy_, to send up stairs to know how she goes on. I have ordered, answered my father, the old midwife to come down to us upon the least difficulty;—for you must know, Dr. _Slop_, continued my father, with a perplexed kind of a smile upon his countenance, that by express treaty, solemnly ratified between me and my wife, you are no more than an auxiliary in this affair,—and not so much as that,—unless the lean old mother of a midwife above stairs cannot do without you.—Women have their particular fancies, and in points of this nature, continued my father, where they bear the whole burden, and suffer so much acute pain for the advantage of our families, and the good of the species,—they claim a right of deciding, _en Souveraines_, in whose hands, and in what fashion, they choose to undergo it. They are in the right of it,——quoth my uncle _Toby._ But Sir, replied Dr. _Slop_, not taking notice of my uncle _Toby_’s opinion, but turning to my father,—they had better govern in other points;——and a father of a family, who wishes its perpetuity, in my opinion, had better exchange this prerogative with them, and give up some other rights in lieu of it.——I know not, quoth my father, answering a letter too testily, to be quite dispassionate in what he said,—I know not, quoth he, what we have left to give up, in lieu of who shall bring our children into the world, unless that,—of who shall beget them.——One would almost give up any thing, replied Dr. _Slop._—I beg your pardon,——answered my uncle _Toby._—Sir, replied Dr. _Slop_, it would astonish you to know what improvements we have made of late years in all branches of obstetrical knowledge, but particularly in that one single point of the safe and expeditious extraction of the _fœtus_,——which has received such lights, that, for my part (holding up his hand) I declare I wonder how the world has——I wish, quoth my uncle _Toby_, you had seen what prodigious armies we had in _Flanders._ C H A P. XLIV I HAVE dropped the curtain over this scene for a minute,——to remind you of one thing,——and to inform you of another. What I have to inform you, comes, I own, a little out of its due course;——for it should have been told a hundred and fifty pages ago, but that I foresaw then ’twould come in pat hereafter, and be of more advantage here than elsewhere.——Writers had need look before them, to keep up the spirit and connection of what they have in hand. When these two things are done,—the curtain shall be drawn up again, and my uncle _Toby_, my father, and Dr. _Slop_, shall go on with their discourse, without any more interruption. First, then, the matter which I have to remind you of, is this;——that from the specimens of singularity in my father’s notions in the point